Melforger (The Melforger Chronicles) (13 page)

Jan had found a half-buried stump from a large oak that had died years ago and carved out the inside until it was about ten feet deep. Then he’d filled it with a layer of ironwood sap and left it to dry. After a full day baking in the mottled sun, it had hardened and become perfectly watertight.

Jan had thought everything out though, and with a flair of genius which justified the silver he was being paid, he had built a few holes into the pool into which watervines were slotted, and then crafted an outlet tube of sorts that let the overflow channel down the back of the guest quarters towards the farm fields behind. Fresh water was continually flowing into the pool keeping it clean and cool, and at the same time, it would benefit some lucky farmers.

Even as they stood there, the flow from the watervines slowly increased and the water level rose at the bottom of the pool and bobbled its way towards the top.

“That’s brilliant,” burbled the youngest assistant, but he was shushed by the other.

“That’s all right, Tunit,” replied Jan as he peered down into the pool and cast a critical eye on everything. “He’s right. We’ve done a pretty good job with this.”

It was pointless in his view, an unnecessary waste of water and effort. But he was also a craftsman and had found the task challenging. It was also the most interesting thing he’d been asked to do over the last few weeks. Mostly, Brinchley had him involved in arbitrary building and fixing chores, the same as he’d have done in Eirdale if he was still living there, although
he was paid much more here. He was building up quite a nice sum of savings and was thinking about what he’d do with it when he was bored of working here. Perhaps move back to Eirdale and buy a decent plot of land or something. He wasn’t sure yet.

Fortunately, it looked as though there were only a few things left to do and he should be able to finish in time to get down to Eirdale for the Festival with a few days to spare.

With one last appraising look, he heaved the tool bag over his shoulder. It should have taken two men to even lift, but a lifetime of manual labor had endowed Jan with enormous strength. His swollen arms seemed to be carved from ironwood and his hands were broad and heavily callused.

“Come on, you two.” He jerked his head back at the two boys who were still admiring the pool. They set off towards the Three Ways commons and were met by sweeping pine arches adorned with jasmine, and there were sculptures littered around the commons, reminiscent of Brinchley’s office, for which Jan had a thorough distaste.

He looked up ahead and saw Brinchley himself, dressed in an absurd silk coat, engaged in a heated discussion with one of the other carpenters.

“- supposed to be finished! What have you been doing, Nerad? I specifically said the kitchens needed to be done by yesterday evening!”

“We hit some hurdles, Counc-”

“No excuses! If they’re not done by lunchtime, you can pack your bags. There’s no time for slip-ups right now, not with -” He stopped when he saw Jan standing off to one side. “Ferthen? What are you doing here? Why aren’t you working on the pool?”

“It’s done.”

“Complete? And it works?” Brinchley’s face lit up. “Excellent. The Foreman will be most pleased.” He rubbed his hands together in a way that made Jan’s hackles rise.

“What I’d say is to give it a week or so to harden completely so that we can be sure there aren’t any leaks, th-”

“A week?” said Brinchley. “I thought you said it works?”

“Well, it runs, but I h-“

“Then, I’m sure it’ll be just fine. No need to dally here, Ferthen. Why don’t you head straight on to the new blocks and get started on those new showers.”

“Right now?” Jan glanced back at his gang who were standing at a distance.

“It must be finished by lunchtime tomorrow,” urged Brinchley. “Think of the money I’m throwing at you.”

“If it’s all the same with you, Councilman, we’ve been working solid and are overdue a break and some food.”

Brinchley stared back at him, twiddling his goatee feverishly. “Fine, fine. But don’t be long. There’s plenty of time tonight and tomorrow morning to finish.” He turned to walk away and then glanced at Nerad who was standing idly, leaning on his long axe. “You have things to get on with, don’t you?” Nerad dipped his head as Brinchley lifted his coat up off the dirt and sauntered off.

Jan snorted in contempt. “Can you believe that man?”

“He’s the one with the coin, woodsmith. Just do what he says,” said the other man, lifting his axe up onto his shoulder.

“True,” replied Jan. “I suppose we better have a bite to eat and then get those showers done. Nothing wrong with the old ones, but they want new, fancy ones – and immediately, always immediately
.
You’d think the world was about to end.”

Nerad smiled briefly and made as if to move away.

Jan added, “At least there are only a few days of work left before we head down to the Festival. When you are leaving for Eirdale?”

Nerad looked down at the floor. “I think I’ll pass on Eirdale this year.”

“Pass on it?” Jan’s thick eyebrows knitted together in confusion. “The Festival? Are you serious?”

“A bit too far to go. I’d rather relax here, maybe spend some coin, gamble a bit. Who knows.” Nerad swung his axe onto his shoulder and walked off.

Jan glanced at Tunit who shrugged and tapped his forehead to indicate what
he
thought of Nerad.

.  .  .  .  .  .  .

Brinchley walked quickly along the edge of one of the new neighborhoods, eyeing the newly refurbished quarters. He had a good mind to move out of his family’s age-old cedar home when the Festival was over, and take up residence in one of these new, luxurious ones.
He reached the entrance to Foreman Allium’s residence, a three-pronged cedar of enormous proportions, and knocked.

“Come in.”

Brinchley straightened his cloak around him and stepped inside.

Allium was an uncommonly tall, wiry man with a high, nasal voice. Unlike most foresters, the Three Ways’ Foreman had close-cropped hair and was clean-shaven, which served only to emphasize the large, hooked nose that dominated his face, and down which he tended to look at people. He was seated at a large table, poring over some parchment maps laid out in front of him.

He didn’t look up. “You have news.”

“Yes, Foreman,” said Brinchley, bowing slightly. “The pool is finished. The new market area is even now having the last few finishing touches made to it. The main performance arenas will be erected ahead of time, and the musicians and performers themselves are g-”

“Don’t talk to me about musicians, Brinchley. Just stick to the important matters.” He paused and glanced at a section of the map. “The new showers?”

“Ferthen was going to work on them this morning.“

The Foreman looked up slowly at Brinchley. “They are not finished?”

“Ah, no, not as yet. The pool took more time than exp-”

“Excuses, Brinchley? Is this too big a job for you? If you feel you are not able
to handle the pressure of managing this Festival…”

“Of course not, Foreman. It will all be finished in time.”

“It better be. This Festival must stamp our mark on the Forest - and tie us firmly to Miern in the process, Brinchley.” Allium started unrolling another map and paused. “I take it you have dealt with the Eirdalers?”

“I just spoke to Nathyn Tovier this morning.”

“Problems?”

“He left with his tail between his legs. The trader incident couldn’t have come at a better time. It played perfectly into our hands, Foreman. If we play this right, by the time they work out what’s happened the Festival will be over and you can proceed with your plan.”

“And what about our Miernan guest, Nabolek? Is he aware of the circumstances?”

“I’ve only filled him in on what he needs to know, Foreman. His interests lie in a successful Festival, and he understands this can only happen if it is held in Three Ways. He seems very reliable.”

The Foreman nodded slowly. “Good. He has important links to Miern - to the Gerent himself, I understand - so keep him happy. This Festival will be the key to establishing Three Ways as the capital of the Forest and impressing the senators. When they deliver their advice to the Gerent – and it had better be glowing, Brinchley – I see no reason why I won’t be granted the title of Baron. When that happens, I will need a good right-hand man to help bring the rest of the Aeril Forest under the new order.”

Brinchley opened his mouth to reply, but the
Foreman had already lowered his head to the map and lifted one hand, loosely flicking it. “That will be all.”

.  .  .  .  .  .  .

“Um, good day. Could you possibly tell us where to find a Mr. Brinkley?”

Jan wiped his eyes and, holding the shower fitting in place, turned to see who it was. Standing at the doorway was a short middle-aged man with a small group of well-dressed people visible behind him on a wagon.

“It’s ‘Brinchley’, and I imagine you’ll find him on the commons,” he replied.

“Oh. Of course, the commons.” The man nodded blankly, looking around vaguely.

Behind him, an elderly lady with a massive pearl necklace bobbing underneath her double chin, said, “And where exactly is this commons, forester?”

Jan looked back up and rolled his eyes. He checked that the fitting wasn’t moving and then climbed down the ladder which Tunit was holding steady. “Right, if you look over there,” he said, pointing westwards towards the village chimes, “you’ll see some offices in the cedars. If you walk past those in a straight line from here, you’ll see the arches of the commons.”

“Lovely. Thank you ever so much,” said the lady. “We’ve travelled an awfully long way and are
most looking forward to relaxing.”

“Well, these showers I’ve fitted in will freshen you up. Tunit here can show you to one of the working ones we’ve done already if you’d like. I can’t see anybody minding if you use one before heading off.”

“Lov- oh, I’m sorry…heading off?”

“Apologies, I thought you were here for the Festival; I misunderstood.”

“But we are! And we are most excited about it as it will be our first visit from Miern.”

“Well, although you’re early, you might as well head to Eirdale this evening or first thing tomorrow morning and enjoy a peaceful trip there. The path will get pretty busy in a few days’ time, I’m guessing.”

“Um… ‘airdale’?” the man repeated vaguely.

Jan ground his teeth again and swapped a look with Tunit who was trying not to smile. “That’s where the Festival is: it’s the name of village. Seems a bit odd they didn’t tell you all this before you came.”

“Well… yes, of course they did. They said it would be in ‘Three Ways’, the capital of the Aeril Forest.”  She looked frustrated. “Are you telling me that there will be
more
travelling still? It distinctly says that this is Three Ways on the map they gave us. No mention of this
airdale
at all
.
”

Jan looked askance at her. “The ‘capital’? Do you have a copy of this map by any chance?”

“Yes, here it is,” she replied, offering him a rolled parchment from under a bench.

He took it and opened it out, admiring the quality of the paper and the craftsmanship of the illustrations and writing on it. However, his lips tightened when he started to read it. The Aeril Forest map had been left almost completely blank with no reference to any of the villages and homesteads that lay to the south and west of Three Ways. The only detailed part was Three Ways itself and the surrounding cedar-dense areas. He scrutinized it for a minute and then, spotting the author and date, cursed loudly and scrunched it up.

“Excuse me, but that’s my map,” accused the woman.

“There’s been a mistake,” snapped Jan gruffly. “Tunit, stay here and finish off the fittings. I may not be back.”

He stormed out of the room into the dappled afternoon sun and marched off at a terrific pace towards the village chimes, leaving behind the puzzled visitors. Up ahead, talking with a few carpenters was Nerad.

“Nerad!”

The other man remained seated on the bench and watched him approach.

“Nerad,” he called again, “what’s going on?” The stocky carpenter stared at him blankly and then picked his drink up, taking a sip from it. “What’s this rubbish about the Festival being held in Three Ways? How can anyone make such a huge mistake?”

Nerad cleared his throat and then, staring into his drink, said, “Perhaps take it up with Councilman Brinchley.”

Jan stared at him. There was something odd in the expressions of the others standing around and he had a growing suspicion that there was something he was missing.  He turned and almost walked straight into the travelers who had caught up with him. Growling impatiently at them, he pushed past and left them behind as he marched up towards the main Council quarters. He approached the large oval door of Brinchley’s office and, hearing indistinct talking inside, he rapped hard on the door. The talking stopped.